


The Flaws in Reality

by imadetheline



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, I have no idea, POV Second Person, are original works allowed?, but i'm gonna post it anyway, just some original short stories, rated teen and up cause I'm paranoid, the theme is liminal spaces
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25133638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadetheline/pseuds/imadetheline
Summary: Short stories based around different liminal spaces. Usually mildly creepy (I try my best).
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	1. Empty Art Gallery

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoy!

The gallery is empty. You can hear humming, maybe from the air conditioner, maybe from visitors in other galleries. 

The white walls are stark. They burn your retinas to look at them. The only reprieve is the paintings hanging in perfectly straight rows in the sea of white. You move closer to one. 

A woman holding a child at the dinner table pulls your focus. The table is set for a large meal with a pig sitting ready for carving, the knife nearby. The woman is very beautiful, but she seems tired as she gazes at her baby. You think, if only the occupants of these paintings could move, they would surely have many stories to tell. 

But they can’t. 

You stare at it a while longer, examining the piece of the story you can grasp from the painting alone. But something seems off. Your mind drifts from the painting as you try to pinpoint it. 

Then it clicks… the humming is gone. You hadn’t even noticed. But now that you have the silence is oppressive; it’s a blanket wrapped around your ears. You glance over your shoulder towards the door to other galleries. It’s open, but you can’t see anyone through it. You turn back to the painting, the feeling of wrongness weighing on your shoulders. 

You take a step back, unsure. Was she staring at you before? 

Something else draws your attention. The carving knife resting innocently on the table is gone. You look back at the woman, taking another step back. She is grinning wide. There are too many teeth. The baby’s grin matches. 

You turn for the door. Where was it again? You blink at the harshness of the walls. You shake your head trying to rid it of the cotton filling your ears. You spin wildly. Where is the door? Where is it? 

The paintings are all grinning. Were they grinning before? You don’t remember. You don’t think so. 

You stop spinning. 

Your eyes meet an empty chair next to a full dinner table in the middle of a frame. You inhale shakily. 

You have entered their domain. You are just a visitor. There will be others. The gallery must remain empty. 

The lights flicker.

A woman sits holding a baby next to a full dinner table. The humming resumes. The gallery is empty.


	2. Gas Station at 2AM

It hadn’t been your idea to stop, but your friend insisted they needed to use the restroom. You guess some snacks wouldn’t be a bad idea. The two of you had been on the road for hours. You glance at the clock in the dashboard. It reads 2:03 AM. It’s a lonely highway through the middle of nowhere; You hadn’t seen a car in hours. But some dilapidated road signs signal a gas station not far up the road. You see the turn and pull into the empty parking lot. 

Your friend jumps out of the car and rushes in immediately. You see through the grimy windows the cashier gesture towards where the restroom must be without looking up. You climb out of the car and stretch out your sore muscles while appraising the sorry exterior of the building. You look up to take in a 24/7 sign flashing irregularly in neon, casting the lot in a purple glow and then turn your focus to the peeling sign in the windows. Buy a large drink and a large hot dog or else. You tilt your head at that. Another poster covers the rest of the sign. It must hide the rest of the sales pitch, you reason, even though it doesn’t seem to cover much. All the other posters seem to be for a lottery that you’ve never heard of. ‘Win cash and save your life!’ they exclaim in bold fonts. 

Definitely a weird way to advertise, but you ignore it, walking towards the glass doors. A bell jingles as you pull the door open. You don’t see a bell. 

You walk past the cashier. They don’t turn. 

You finally notice what’s drawing their attention. An old box TV sits on a high shelf in the corner. The screen displays static. It’s humming fills the air. Maybe they’re just bored out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do. 

You want to leave.

But your friend is still in the bathroom and you promised you’d get snacks. You roam the aisles, grabbing random chips and candies, trying to ignore the trance-like cashier. God, your friend is taking forever. Finally, you hear the toilet flush. You adjust the items in your arms and make your way to the cash register. You’re not sure why but you try to be as quiet as possible as you set down your items. It doesn’t quite work; the chip bags crinkle loudly in the near-silence as they smack the counter. 

The cashier finally turns and meets your eyes. There’s something off about them. You’re not sure what though. 

They begin to scan the items. Your friend exits the bathroom as you fish for cash in your back pocket. They don’t say anything. You look up with cash in hand as the cashier holds out their hand, your total displayed on the blinking register. You fumble with the bills before realizing you’re short a dollar. You turn to your friend intent on asking for a dollar. 

You stop short. They’re turned away from you, their face upturned, eyes fixed on the still glowing television. “Hey,” you shake their arm. They silently brush you off. You look back at the cashier. They’re once again fixated on the TV. You want to get out of here now. You grab a bag of chips and throw it back on a random shelf, then dump the money in the cashier’s still outstretched hand. They turn and meet your eyes. The static from the TV set is reflected in their eyes. 

Except they’re not looking at the TV. 

You grab your friend’s arm and pull with all your might. They turn finally. You see static in their eyes. You run, grabbing their arm and yanking them after you as you run out of the store. They make the first sound you’ve heard from them since you entered the godforsaken gas station. It’s a growl. You don’t let go. You don’t think you can. 

You wrench open the passenger door and shove your friend in before sprinting around and vaulting into your seat. You fumble with your keys. All you know is it’s essential that you leave now. You start the car and lock the doors. 

And you’re off, speeding out of the parking lot and around the turn and back onto the highway. The neon sign blinks innocently through the window. Your friend is quiet. The only sound is the roar of the engine. 

You look at the clock. It blinks back: 2:03 AM. That isn’t possible. It had to have been at least ten minutes. You stare at it, willing it to change. Then suddenly it blinks again. 2:04 AM. 

Your friend exclaims, “Where’s the music? C’mon, I drift off and you turn off the music?” You jolt, but manage to keep the car on the road. Your friend fiddles with the radio. You look back. There are no lights. No gas station. You keep driving.


	3. Airport late at night

The plane lands. Everyone stands up at once. They know they will have to wait. Still they jostle and shove, their faces blank with exhaustion, their eyes unseeing. Somewhere, a baby begins to cry. You don’t see a baby. Slowly, figures begin to file out of the plane. You can’t see an end to the line.

The airport is empty. Lights flash in the darkness outside. The tall windows keep the darkness at bay, keep it from pressing in closer. 

What time is it? All the clocks blink back different numbers. The red hurts your tired eyes. You look away. The planes don’t stop for something as inconsequential as time.  
The people trudge forward, dragging their heavy suitcases. Where did the suitcases come from? And where is yours? You look around but people from your flight continue to shove past you, all rolling suitcases.

You wait as the crowd turns the corner, the clack of the wheels fading into silence. The clocks continue to blink. There is a roaring from outside. It must be the planes. You hope it is the planes.

You peer into the darkness. The only lit area is the walkway through the gate into the hallway. The seats surrounding the entrance to the gate sit empty. Strangely, the charging ports are all occupied, they’re always occupied: computers, phones, tablets sit plugged in. The green lights on the charger flash, as unattainable at night as in the day. But there is still no luggage.

You begin to walk down the hallway, hoping to discover someone to help find your luggage. The loudspeaker crackles to life, knocking you back a step as it blares into your eardrums straight through your skull. It cuts in and out, ‘The 10-2-7 o’clock to Chica-Dallas-Lndon has been cancelled. Please refer to one of our help desks to reschedule.’ Curiously, you glance around for a help desk as you walk down the long hallway, gates on either side. You don’t see one. You wonder who they were speaking to. Your flight was supposed to be the last one tonight.

You spot the sign for a restroom hanging on a door and gratefully head towards it. It was a long flight and you still haven’t found anyone to help find your luggage. You tug open the door only to almost run into the back of an old woman. You peer around her shoulder as the single overhead light flickers. You recognize her from your flight. Her eyes look sunken. 

All the stalls are open. Some of the doors are swinging as if someone had just stepped out. The woman doesn’t move. You speak up, “Are you in line, ma’am?” She doesn’t answer. You move to step around her thinking, maybe she’s deaf. You shift your foot. She shifts to block your path. You try again, “Ma’am?”

She gestures wildly towards the stalls and barks, “There’s a line! Can’t you see?” She then begins wildly digging in her purse as she murmurs under her breath, “Young people these days… can’t believe..”

You take a slow, quiet step back. You’ll use the restroom somewhere else, you decide, as you hurriedly shove the door open and step back into the dimly lit hallway. And there, across the hallway, stands an attendant. Finally. She’s standing with her arms behind her back and a wide smile on her face. She spots you and smiles even wider, her mouth stretching and showing more teeth. You’re not sure that’s possible but she does it. You approach slowly, a little anxious but eager to find your luggage. You’re tired and it was a long flight and the airport is weird and you want to be home.

She steps forward and says, “How may I help you?”

You glance down the mostly dark hallway again, but reply in a rush, “Umm yeah. I’m looking for my luggage. There were no signs for baggage claim and everyone else already seemed to have gotten theirs so I was just wondering where I could find mine.”

She tilts her head. “Have you checked baggage claim?”

“Uh no. There were no signs. So if you could point me in the right direction?”

She nods, “Of course. When would you like to reschedule your flight for?”

“Oh no no, there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m just looking for my bags,” You say, taking a step back.

“Of course. I am terribly sorry your flight got cancelled. We’ll get you on another one in no time. In the meantime, would you like this meal voucher?” She shifts her hand and pulls a piece of paper from nowhere. You peer down at it. You can’t read it. The words seem to swim and shift across the paper. She pushes it towards you. “Please, take this meal voucher as a token of our gratitude.” She smiles again. You back up further. She steps after you. “Please, take this meal voucher as a token of our gratitude.”

You’ll come back for your luggage, you decide, as you turn and hurry back down the hallway. Then there’s another attendant. The man steps toward you, “Please, take this meal voucher as a token of our gratitude.”

You break into a sprint. Gates fly past you. The clocks flash red numbers that don’t make sense. The loudspeaker blares flights to locations you don’t recognize. Attendants at every corner offer you meal vouchers to places that don’t exist. The darkness roars and presses in. Where is the exit? You barrel down hallways and skid around turns. 

You glance back. The attendants are following, more and more of them. They wave papers and pamphlets and vouchers. There is no exit. You run up the gangway for another airplane. You just need to get away. The plane door is open and you rush in, pulling it closed behind you. 

You shiver and pull in a shaky breath. You just need to rest for a second. You’re so tired. You stumble down the aisle and fall into a seat. Your neck starts to ache. You lay your head back and close your eyes. Just for a second… You just need… to rest…

You blink. Everyone stands up at once. They know they will have to wait. Still they jostle and shove, their faces blank with exhaustion, their eyes unseeing. Somewhere, a baby begins to cry. You don’t see a baby. Slowly, figures begin to file out of the plane. You can’t see an end to the line. The attendants smile widely at you as you step onto the gangway. 

Planes don’t stop for something as inconsequential as time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partly inspired by “Cause we’re Delta Airlines. And life is a fucking nightmare.” by John Mulaney


	4. Schools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of social commentary in this one so beware. I didn't intend it but the story has a way of getting away from me.

Why are you here? How did you get here? It doesn’t matter. None of it matters now. Questions are never truly answered. Not here. Not now. 

The sign outside says ‘Have a good break! We’ll see you on the other side students!’ The other side of what? (No questions, remember?) Right. 

You walk through the too big doors. They say welcome. Posters plastered over the glass paint pictures of smiling students, smiling teachers, their teeth and skin white. Why are they smiling? (No questions.)

The hallway is too long. The lights are dim. Identical doors line the walls. You begin to walk. Posters line the walls advertising school events. A back to school picnic: a girl and boy seated on a red checkered blanket smile back at you from the paper. A Halloween carnival: a girl and boy as a witch and a cop, other students milling in the background, faces not visible. Who are they? (No questions.)

You continue to walk. One foot in front of the other. All the doors are closed. Except one. Why is it open? (No questions.)

You stop on the threshold. The classroom is empty. Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be? You don’t linger on that. (No questions.) You step in.

It’s a perfectly average classroom. Desks in straight rows. The teacher’s desk in the back. A projector and screen hanging from the wall. The white walls are oddly bare. Only class pictures hang on the wall. You barely spare them a glance. Why would you? (No questions.)

There are no windows. The air conditioner clicks on. You shiver. It’s already cold. 

You wish you could leave. Why can’t you leave? You’re not sure. (No questions.) 

Your eyes dart to the door. It’s still open. You can’t move.

Suddenly you’re sitting. In a desk. You look down. A copy of To Kill a Mockingbird rests in your hands. You look up. There’s writing appearing on the screen, projected from… Who’s writing it? (No questions.) You straighten up. There are students in the desks next to you. Cursive appears on the screen: If you can dream it, you can do it. That doesn’t seem right, but the other students are nodding. More writing: Make your dreams a reality. All you have to do is work hard. More nodding. 

More classrooms. The same message. You walk down halls surrounded by students. Their faces are hazy. There is never silence. Your ears hurt. How did you get here? You don’t remember. (No questions.) 

There is nothing except making your dreams a reality. What were your dreams again? You don’t know. No one knows. (No questions.) 

It is always the same.

Then it changes. 

You don’t like it.

The bright lights flicker. The words on the screen morph into messy block letters that hurt your eyes. Where is the pretty, soothing cursive? (No questions.)

The letters yell at you: WAKE UP WAKE UP.

The students turn as one, their eyes murderous.

WAKE UP WAKE U- You blink.

The cursive is back. The lights are bright. The students are nodding. But something’s changed. You try to focus on the girl next to you. You try to remember her name. Charlotte? Emily? Rose? (No questions.) You try to make out her face. It’s hazy. Her features seem to slip through your fingers. You focus. She turns. So does the girl next to her. 

All the students are looking at you again. You stand. To Kill a Mockingbird slips from your slack fingers. It smacks against the ground. Silence falls. You barely remember silence. 

It’s not comforting. 

Scratching of a pencil fills the silence suddenly. You turn towards the projector. In cursive: The class pictures. You turn towards the wall filled with pictures of every graduating class in neat rows. Nothing else moves as you take steps toward the wall. You lean in. What do they want you to see? Students in neat rows, smiling. You glance back to the screen. The faces. You look back at the photos. You take a step back.

They’re all the same. The same picture. Students in uniforms. No. Uniform students.

The students. A girl with blonde curly hair and straight white teeth and skin. A boy with sleek brown hair and straight white teeth and skin. Over and over. It’s the same two. Over and over. You stare down the length of the wall. It seems to stretch on and on. There’s no end.

You spin. The students stare at you. Their teeth and skin burn your eyes as they smile. The screen burns your eyes: Your dreams are reality. 

You don’t want these dreams. You want out. You push open the door. No one stops you.

There are students in the hallway. They stare, unmoving. You push through the identical faces. The posters on the wall are of the same students. How did you not notice? (No questions.)

There’s the glass doors. You stop. Your reflection stares back at you. Is that you? You don’t know. You don’t think so.

You reach for the handle. 

You stop.

You turn back.

Students smile and talk. You walk back down the hallway. Everything is back to normal. What is normal? (No questions.)

These molds of people are the only way to make your dreams a reality. The only way to get ahead in this world. Straight white teeth and skin. All others perish in this broken world.

You remember the sign outside the school. It lied. There is no break. There never was a break. The other side of what? It never stops. (No questions.)

You return to the classroom. You pick up To Kill a Mockingbird. You sit. The cursive resumes. It paints beautiful lies but you know there are no truths. Not ones that everyone will accept.

So what else is there to do? The only question that can be answered. Everything and nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if it came through but I was kind of commenting on the inherent racism in our education system, and other systems of course but the focus is schools in this story. I fully believe education is one of the most valuable things our society has but we need to work on the structures in place that discriminate against BIPOC and those with less money.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey thanks for reading! If you liked this you should consider checking me out on tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imadetheline for fandom stuff or at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/soithinkicanwrite which is my writing blog.


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